


Gates of the West [Ch 3]

by SuzumePaige



Series: Gates of the West [3]
Category: In These Words - Guilt Pleasure
Genre: David S. Krause PI, GuiltPleasure, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:28:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27262750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuzumePaige/pseuds/SuzumePaige
Summary: David finally gets information about the Burns case that catches his interest, and maybe he'll finally be able to say the same about Ari.
Series: Gates of the West [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1990570
Kudos: 1





	Gates of the West [Ch 3]

Standing next to my car, I hit send on my phone and pinched it against my shoulder in order to open the door and throw a folder full of photocopies from the San Francisco Vital Records office onto the passenger seat. Someone pulled up behind me and put their blinker on.

When the call was picked up, the answering voice voice was polished to a high gloss. “Ari James.”

“I need to know if you’re playing a joke on me.” I waved the other drive around; I didn’t expect this conversation to go quickly. “You can tell me the truth,” I said, folding myself behind the wheel and slamming the door “—you and Mina went to high school together, she humilated you in front of the entire school and this is revenge. Did she pull down your pants on the football field?” 

“Hello, David.” I didn’t like the way he said my name, all humor and round letters.

I looked up at my reflection in the rearview mirror as I sank back into the carseat. The man who looked back at me was familiar without a doubt; the way his hair always fell to one side, the almost imperceptible swerve to the bridge of his nose where it had been broken almost twenty years ago and then again surely at least twice-- I’d lived with that man all my life. What I didn’t understand was what I couldn’t see in those blue eyes: the reason I was restless doing the work I’d always found exciting. I grabbed the phone in one hand and turned the mirror away with the other. I was tired. I should learn to stop asking stupid questions.

“Hi, Ari.” If it was easier speaking to him over the phone, it was just a fluke. Without being able to see Ari I couldn’t mistake him for Katsuya in the slightest. His voice was deliberately accentless and sharp in a way that my ex-partner’s rarely had ever had cause to be. “Mina’s public records make girl scouts look like sadists.” So far this morning I’d managed to fill an entire manilla folder with nothing but the cleanest crap I’d even seen in my life. Mina’s records were all in order, not one parking ticket paid late. Even Mother Teresa might have missed a payment in San Francisco, where getting a parking ticket was sometimes the price you paid just to be able to park your car at all. 

The kicker was that the squeakiness of her paper trail didn’t even made me suspicious: in fact it all seemed pretty on-par for a woman who I’d found graduated with honors from her ivy league university, been the treasurer for her sorority, and helped run or fund a bevvy of charitable programs in her free time. Her life in documents was a fairy tale and I’d pulled together a casefile that read like Marsha Brady’s best hits. Good people were pushed to do bad things all of the time but if Mina was Ghandi on paper than I was going to have to hope that Ari had something else that got me on board with his gut. 

I rolled down the window and sat my elbow in the sunlight, a watery glow through the morning fog. The city offices weren’t close enough to the bay to get real sunlight before mid-afternoon this time of year. It made the breeze cool and I rubbed the tips of my fingers together; they were already damp. I wondered if Ari was in the office. “Is this a bad time?”

“Luckily for you I am out getting coffee right now.”

I put my head back against the headrest and closed my eyes. “If you say you’re in a Starbucks you’re going to be down one P.I.”

“Then luckily for me, I am in a little bistro connected to an old hotel where all they serve is Illy. Do I pass muster?” There was a tease that lifted the ends of his words and stood the hair on the back of my neck. I liked the lack of incongruity in the thought of him in a three-piece suit at a small chrome counter more Italian than American in a low-ceilinged, wallpapered old hotel with sconces on the walls. 

I opened my eyes. “It’ll do.”

“Then please, continue.” 

I wish I couldn’t hear the smile in his voice. “I’m not sure where this gut instinct of yours comes from--”

“I think you get enjoyment from pointing that out.”

“--but I can tell you without a doubt that you will never be able to level a charge against Ms. Mina-who-actually-offered-bone-marrow-to-a-friend-Burns for killing not just one but two of her husbands and make it stick.”

Ari’s chuckle was dry, cutting in like static down the line. “Do you always have such an aversion to earning a paycheck?” Little did he know how ironic that question was in light of my time in San Francisco. Why did it always have to come down to money? “I’ll pay you by the day,” he continued, “or the hour if you prefer.” 

I felt my lips flatten into a line and somethick cool and heavy settled in my stomach. “As long as you’re throwing money at the problem,” I said, “sure. Hourly sounds great. Now that we’ve got all the _most_ important things out of the way, would you like me to continue? It’s not my job on the line, after all.”

“Touchy.”

It felt like maybe he wasn’t touchy enough. “I know you’re new to the concept of a guilty charge--”

“Motives are as grey as morals,” he said. I wondered if interrupting people while they were talking was a lawyer thing. 

“That’s a good title for your first book.” The words were a quick snipe before I bit my tongue. In my ear there was a tight breath that was no doubt Ari doing the same. Goddamned criminal defense lawyers. Lifting my hand from the door I pushed fingers down against my temples and took a moment. The next words came through my clenched teeth but at least they resembled something civil. It was fine if we didn’t like each other-- in all honestly I’d been suspicious of the rapport we’d had in person over lunch-- but we needed to be civil if work was going to get done. 

“A gut instinct doesn’t need a reason, Detective, and since you seem to understand the definition of guilt so well, I think you also surely grasp the concept of burden of proof.”

I frowned at no one but my windsheild. Burden of proof was the obligation to provide evidence. In other words, exactly what Ari had hired me to do. “ _Onus probandi._ ”

“And he’s educated as well. Astounding.”

Asshole. I kept that one to myself, at least. I mean, why bother stating the obvious?

“Do you feel up to continuing this job?”

Dropping my head back I stared at the ceiling of the sedan for a moment. Like a handful of other things, this car had been with me from from New York. There had been a day when flashers had been mounted behind the front grill in service to 1PP Homicide Department. Back then burden of proof had felt tangible-- there was always a body. Always a corpse and the people whose worlds had shifted with the loss of that heartbeat. Maybe that was the defining distinction between my life in New York and my life in San Francisco: a lack of a heartbeat. I was running errands for the rich and jilted.

Christ, I hoped this wasn’t my midlife crisis. How fucking sad. 

Without Ari’s face in front of me we’d resorted to our baser selves: a pro-bono lawyer and an old-school ex-cop. “Listen, Ari, I’m sorry.” See? I could be good. “I’d only called as a way to maybe connect some dots. It’s not every day I’m running down leads on a grieving widow who has been cleared beyond reasonable doubt. Who smells so clean that _I_ feel like I just took the best shower of my life. I’m saying this because if she’s clean on paper then there’s a lot of bullshit that I’d rather skip right through. Gut instincts aside I know what I said but,” I didn’t trust the gut instincts of a lawyer, “this feels like nothing. Less than nothing.”

There was silence and for a moment I thought that Ari had hung up. 

“I’m allowed to speak now?”

Christ. “Yes, please do.”

“What I know,” he said, while I rubbed my forehead and the headache that was suddenly looming very close, “is that every single thing about this case--her lovely paper trail notwithstanding--that’s come to light exonerates Mina Burns from guilt. And _that_ is something.”

He gave me silence to turn over his words and slowly, I sat up straighter. Out the windshield true sunlight was trying to push fingers through the morning. It wasn’t uncommon that leads went nowhere--what _was_ uncommon, however, was to find someone so close to the victim of a homicide who could walk away looking, well, like Ghandi. “You’re saying she’s too clean.”

“Any cleaner,” Ari said, “and she’d squeak when she walked.”

Which gave an entirely new context to all the pages that I’d spent the morning digging up. If anything, the fact that I’d found nothing at all exacerbated what Ari was pointing out. I had nothing to apologize for but felt chastised enough to admit that perhaps I’d spoken out of turn. “Alright,” I said, “let’s say I’m starting to understand.”

Ari’s laugh lost none of its broadness over the phone. The sound curled like a viper low in my stomach, tight, curled, ready to strike. “You don’t have a lot of friends, do you, David?”

“Strangely, not who are lawyers.”

I hadn’t meant to prompt another laugh but I got one anyway. “Meet me for coffee tomorrow morning,” Ari said. “You promised me one meeting-- let’s make it my contact in the police department. One-ten Yacht Road at nine. We’ll get you a casefile that might make you inclined to be a little sweeter because god knows your good looks aren’t making your moral high-ground any more bearable.” 

Before I could even think of a response to that, Ari had hung up.

Well, shit.

\+ + +

One-ten Yacht Road turned out to be a free-standing octagonal white-stone building with a terracotta roof that was only a little larger than my bathroom. On the edge of the Marina and the water, behind the cafe a double-handful of actual yachts were bobbing on the incoming tide just over the back railing. A small green sign snapping in the breeze read ‘Dynamo Donut & Coffee.’ Donuts. I wondered if I was here because Ari had bad taste in cop jokes. Rounding the side of the small business I found both the lawyer in question and the obviously plainclothes officer next to him mid-conversation; they paused as I approached and two sets of eyes turned to me. 

Ari’s physical presence still felt like a gut-punch. The more-than presentable suit, the dark, cool set of his eyes. I’d somehow convinced myself that I’d been wrong about everything that I’d felt at lunch but standing here in front of him I considered that I’d only done myself a disservice. Doubting how I’d felt before left me staring now, my mouth dry and my heart rapping against my ribs as if it were not-so-politely asking to vacate the premise. 

“David.” Ari kept most of his teeth behind his smile and didn’t reach for my hand. I was grateful for both. The officer, however, cursed lightly and then laughed as he shuffled his donut with a crinkle of waxed paper so that he could offer a shake. Ari made the introductions. “This is Detective Blair Kaplan. Blair, Private Detective David Krause.” It took the detective’s hand in mine to redirect my focus from Ari. 

The detective’s grip was warm, easy to take and easy to let go. “Krause,” he said, smiling. He raised his donut a bit. “Molasses-Guiness flavor. I know I’m the picture of a walking stereotype right now but look, the way I see it if I set the bar low then there’s no place to go but up.” So the choice of locale hadn’t been bad humor after all. I was a little disappointed. 

Kaplan’s short hair was being tested by the wind off the bay. He didn’t have a tie and his jacket was a trench-coat that pandered as much to the tv-show detective as the donut in his hand, but his button-down fit him well and was tucked snugly into slacks that still had their crease. He would have looked well-cut if it wasn’t for Ari at his side with the wrists of his dress shirt peeking out from the cuffs of his suit jacket at just the appropriate length. “Am I late?”

Kaplan smiled, thin lips framed by a trimmed auburn beard. “No. Ari has an annoying habit of being ten minutes early everywhere he goes.” Poking fun at the lawyer; I liked the detective already. 

“Probably so that he can make everyone else look worse in comparison,” I offered in return.

“Absolutely. As if the suits didn’t do that already.”

Ari plucked a coffee cup from the railing at his side and handed it to me. “Cream and sugar are on the ledge. Let’s sit--I’ll be less likely to drown one of you if we’re further from the water.”

“He’s shitty before his caffiene’s kicked in,” Kaplan muttered around a sip of his own coffee.

Crap. I _did_ like him. But he apparently liked Ari enough to tease him, which meant either Kaplan was mentally impared or I’d let my judgements get ahead of me. Sugar was added to the black liquid and I popped the lid back on as I followed the two men down a short pier in front of the hut that ran along a thin strand of beach. The wooden planking held a small scattering of orange-topped, circular tables. There was only one other group seated, a mom swiping through her phone as her two children smeared their faces with frosting. Kaplan divested himself of coffee and donut before grabbing a tied folder from under his arm and dropping on the table as he sat. Ari and I took our own benches. 

“That’s everything that I can pull you for the case,” Kaplan said. I didn’t look at Ari. “You’ve been filled in on the problem--at this point there’s nothing, and I mean nothing, that links her to the crime.” Her being Mina; David saw the detective glance at the family and even though they were tables away, he was being safe. I wrapped my hands around the hot sides of my paper cup. 

“You share Ari’s feelings on this.”

Kaplan nodded. The smile from earlier was gone and without it the neat beard leant him an intensity. “Gordon & Gray have kept her presence in the investigation to a bare minimum--”

“It’s our job,” Ari said, his eyes narrowing. He enjoyed interrupting everyone, then. I didn’t know if I was glad it wasn’t just me.

“Ari.” Kaplan paused for effect before continuing when the lawyer held his tongue. “What I was going to say was that even if they hadn’t, we wouldn’t have gotten much face time anyway. G&G acted as public botox, you know what I mean?” I did. He was saying that the firm hadn’t gotten in the way so much as protected Mina’s image. They kept her from being hauled in they way I would have hauled her in--which was to say, something just short of harassment. It’s one way of breaking a suspect down, mentally; no one likes coming into a police station. “But I was there when she took the polygraph,” Kaplan said. 

“It’s not impossible to beat a polygraph,” I offered. “And they’re not admissible in court anyway.”

“There’s something missing,” Ari said, across the top of his coffee. He’d taken off the lid and the steam wafted toward his face. I tried and failed not to focus on his eyes, or his cheekbones. The morning sun did them both a lot of favors. At least Kaplan seemed oblivious to where my attention was; he was nodding his agreement. I pulled myself back. 

Kaplan shrugged. “Despite the facts, no one that close to a victim can be so clean.” He wasn’t wrong. Most of the time several suspects in a case had motives and ties to evidence that were nothing but the circumstance of life. People got dirty living in each other’s pockets. Spouses got dirtier than most. 

“It’s possible that she set it all up,” I said. “Took her time to make sure to dot all the I’s and cross all the T’s. Sounds like someone who could beat a polygraph.” But it also sounded like a sociopath, and that wasn’t the woman I’d found in paper at the SF Vital Records office. That person wouldn’t pledge a sorority and donate her body parts. Kaplan wore a grim smile in the corners of his mouth that said he was thinking the same thing.

The detective had a doe-eyed look about him that reminded me of Richards, even though Kaplan had to have almost a decade on my friend. But there was that same optimism that lifted his words, turning what should have been a shut-case into a open-ended goal. “Forensics found a bullet hole in the bottom panel of the driver’s door,” Kaplan said, leaning over his coffee and lowered his voice. “Took them two days to find the bullet. Small caliber. But the vic had soot in his lungs.”

I rubbed at my cheek, some of the residual warmth of the coffee cup lingering on my skin. Ari was watching me and I tried my best to ignore him. “The shot incapacited him,” I said, “and then he died in the fire. Christ. That’s an ugly way to go.”

“And premeditated as hell,” Kaplan agreed. I couldn’t argue. Such an intimate death heavily implied that the killing wasn’t random. And he--and Ari--were convinced that it was Mina. They just didn’t have to proof to back it up.

“Do you have a detail following her?”

The wind shifted Ari’s tie. “No,” he spoke up. “G&G shut that down.” My eyebrows rose and Ari scowled. Kaplan was right--Ari _was_ cranky before his coffee.

Kaplan pushed the file toward me. “Take it home, read it. A fresh point of view can only help.” I set it under my coffee even as the younger detective blurted out, “I looked at your numbers,” like it was something that he’d been sitting on since he’d shook my hand and just couldn’t keep in any longer. Ari’s eyebrows hid themselves under his hairline. Kaplan wasn’t looking at him, he was looking at me. “Your closing rate is amazing.”

“Was,” I pointed out, careful. It technically only applied to the work that I did in New York. While private detectives did close cases, my record lately had been chekered enough that I was glad it was all far enough below bar as to be regulated to word-of-mouth. 

Kaplan shook his head. “The Carlin Brothers.”

“Who?” Ari asked.

“Serial killers,” the detective said, and I wrapped my fingers back around my cup with enough pressure to make the stiff lid creak. The scar on my forearm itched. “Krause caught them.”

“I was lucky,” I said. Also lucky that I’d lived, but I left that part out. “Right place, right time.”

“Clean-up found a dozen bodies buried in the backyard, some that had been missing for a decade.” I didn’t want to think about Jesse, or how it had felt to intentionally take a man’s life. I swallowed a mouthful of coffee and burned my tongue, wincing. At least the pain was louder than the intensity of Ari’s gaze on me. I guessed that he’d truly taken Thomas’ word for face value. He hadn’t known what he was actually getting in the deal.

“It’s not like I solve everything that comes across my desk,” I said. “No one does. This case--”

“Shit, sorry.” Kaplan shook his head. “I know, I didn’t mean to imply that you’re our golden ticket. It’s just, you know. You’re a hightide mark. If there were, like, trading cards for detectives… ah, fuck, nevermind.” He grinned, wide and white. “Sometimes the mouth goes without the brain’s consent.” There was a slight flush in his tanned cheeks. 

I exhaled through my nose, something more than resigned but less than a laugh. I took pride in my work but never wanted to be anyone’s standard. “I’ll look at the files. Can I reach out if I need anything?”

Kaplan nodded. “My card’s in the folder with the rest of it.” He hadn’t quite lost his grin and when he shook my hand again, it was a little tighter than the first time. “None of us are miracle workers, right? But it makes me feel better knowing that your eyes are on this.” He climbed to his feet and lifted the half-eaten donut and his coffee. “Sorry to eat and run, but I’m supposed to be in the office in fifteen.” He shifted his wooly smile to Ari. “Catch ya later, three-piece.”

“I hate you,” Ari said with a beautiful smile. Kaplan just gave one last wave my way before turning. His trench coat flapped behind him. For a moment there was absolute silence. It was a gorgeous morning. And then I said--

“--three-piece?”

Just a heartbeat before Ari asked--

“--trading card?”

I shook my head. “I was first.”

Ari sighed and pushed fingers through his hair, catching the nearly-blue strands and pulling them off his forehead. His hair wasn’t too short that the wind hadn’t been able to make a mess of it but the gesture hadn’t helped either; small wings stuck out around his ears. “He calls me that because of the suits.”

“ _Do_ you own anything without a matching vest?” I hated the teasing way I asked it.

“Of course I do,” Ari snapped. There was something about the way his frown folded small creases between his eyebrows; it made him look more human and less like a slightly-off photocopy of my ex. He narrowed his eyes and picked up his coffee. “Did you wear your formal uniform when you posed for your trading card?” 

My teeth clicked together and I smiled. “Of course not. I just hung my hat on my dick.” 

Ari sputtered into his drink and rocked back in his seat, covering his mouth with a hand as he coughed. My smiled loosened into something wider and unintentionally genuine. “You don’t want to know where I got to stick all the medals.”

Coughs turned into laughter and my heart lurched. “Shit,” Ari breathed out, crows feet stepping out at the corners of his eyes. He rubbed his chin and returned his cup to the grossly orange table. “Anyway, I wouldn’t have brought him if I knew he was a _fan_.”

I hummed. “Why’s that?”

“Because I don’t need you being likeable.”

My heart was back suddenly, knocking on my ribs. I wasn’t quite sure what to say to that. It hadn’t occurred to me that maybe Ari James didn’t want to like me any more than I wanted to like him--and if we _did_ get along… then where, exactly, did that put us?

**Author's Note:**

> After so many months I've come back to GotW... and ended up using the original draft of the first few pages for this chapter, only tweaked. Pays to know which way you're headed in a story. If you've read things on my Ko-Fi some of the beginning might feel familiar! Sometimes you have to step clean away to come back.


End file.
